The Charge

Fourteen discs of pure digital estrogen.

The Case

"Mikey, you've got to help me," I pleaded with Chief Justice
Michael Stailey. "My wife has been very understanding about the horror
movies, the action movies, the science fiction—she even appreciates that
I've reviewed some cartoons for the kids—but she really wants me to review
something that the two of us can watch together."

"Hmmm," he pondered. "You know what she really means, don't
you?"

"Yes," I shuddered. "She wants me to review
some…some…chick flicks."

"Jim, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, it's gotta be done. Surely we've got a few romcoms lying about
the office, right?"

"Leave everything to me." Stailey's voice was warm,
reassuring.

Several days later, a large package appeared on my doorstep. Trembling, I
unwrapped it. Chief Justice Stailey had taken matters into his own hands, all
right—by flinging me directly into the path of a juggernaut. Specifically,
he had sent me The Romance Classics Collection from A&E.
Darcy…Miss Woodhouse…Thornfield…Sir Percy
Blakeney…Wilfred of Ivanhoe…the Doone Forest…frippery beyond
measure (which I put in just to up the site count on the word
"frippery" to seven (well, now eight)—eight of the most beloved
romances from the A&E vaults. Thirty hours of chick flick
goodness—and I've got to watch all of it and review it in a little over
two weeks. The sacrifices I make for my wife.

The set is nothing more than a repackaging of the A&E Literary
Classics—The Romance Collection, with the MSRP cut roughly in half. In
short, it's a double dip. The movies are exactly the same as in the previous
set, with no restored images or new extras; the only difference is that instead
of getting the movies in individual snapcases, you get a somewhat cumbersome
book, with the discs on plastic pages, stacked two to a page. The stacked
arrangement is a little clunky, and I've already had problems with discs falling
out. They should have stick with the snapcases. On the plus side, the cover has
portraits of the major characters, with Colin Firth's Darcy manfully holding the
center position.

These films were initially broadcast between 1995 and 2002. Overall, it's an
excellent set, with a good deal of variety in style and tone. All the movies
have solid Dolby Surround 2.0 mixes; there's no need to discuss the mixes of
individual films (video is a bit more varied, though, and will be addressed as
warranted). In the event that any of you guys out there get roped into watching
any of these with your significant other, I'm including Judge Jim Thomas' Real
Men's Guide to the Film with my discussions. This guide will enable you to watch
any of these chick flicks safely, without endangering your manhood.

Well, enough stalling. Cover me, men; I'm going in.

The Evidence

Pride and Prejudice Mr. Bennett (Benjamin Whitrow) has a
serious problem: His considerable estate, due to the whims of English law, is
"entailed"—that is, it will not pass to Bennett's wife or
daughters following his death, but will instead pass to his closest male
relative, in this case, to his cousin, Mr. Collins (David Bamber). Consequently,
Bennett and his wife are highly motivated to find advantageous marriages for
their five daughters. Fortunately, Mr. Charles Bingley, with his annual income
of five thousand pounds (basically, he has a net worth of $5 million) has just
moved into the area. The family is excited not only by the prospect of having
such a wealthy bachelor in the area, but also by the prospect of having Mr.
Bingley's wealthy acquaintances in the area as well—friends such as
Fitzwilliam Darcy (Colin Firth, Bridget Jones' Diary), who is twice as
wealthy as Bingley. At a public function, Bingley seems taken with the eldest
Bennett girl, Jane. The next oldest Bennett girl, Elizabeth (Jennifer Ehle,
Paradise Road), takes an immediate dislike to Darcy, finding him proud
and aloof. For his part, Darcy finds Elizabeth not attractive enough to merit
his attention. Elizabeth overhears this comment, further endearing him to
Elizabeth. As the film progresses, Elizabeth finds herself drawn to the
dashing George Wickham, a soldier who was himself wronged by Darcy.
Relationships develop, secrets come to light, and love conquers all. But then
again, given that the collection is entitled The Romance Collection, you
probably figured that out already.

The wonderful thing about the five-hour runtime is that it allows all of the
plots to play out fully and at their own pace; something you don't often see in
literary adaptations. Supporting characters in particular get developed to a
degree you rarely see anymore; more importantly, the direction is sure enough
that the five hours never drag. We get a real sense of the Bennett family
dynamics, as well as the highly structured and mannered society within which
they must function.

The acting is splendid, particularly that of the leads. Jennifer Ehle shines
as Elizabeth, her quick wit and intelligence always right there at the surface.
She handles the gradual shift in Elizabeth's feelings towards Darcy deftly and
subtly; by the time she visits Pemberley (Darcy's estate) for the first time, we
can already see that she is beginning to fall in love with him—which is
critical if we are to avoid seeing her as a gold digger. Colin Firth leapt to
stardom in the role of Darcy, as his cool demeanor slowly thaws in the presence
of Elizabeth. Benjamin Whitrow as Mr. Bennett, though, is really an unsung
hero—he holds things together, encouraging his more sensible older
daughters while trying to imbue his younger daughters with some sense of their
own (with decidedly mixed results). He advises without preaching, suggests
without pontificating. His quiet talk with Elizabeth towards the end of the
film, making sure that she loves Darcy the man and not the money, is a lovely
depiction of a father whose only concern is the happiness of his daughter, not
her financial security.

Video is a little uneven. Colors are a bit washed out, and there's a fair
amount of grain, particularly indoors. Flesh tones are inconsistent,
particularly between indoor and outdoor shots. I understand not wanting to do a
full restoration, but is basic color correction really too much to ask for?

With all due respect to Keira Knightley, this version is the definitive take
on Austen's most popular novel, and belongs in the DVD library of anyone
interested in literary adaptations.

Real Man's Guide: The biggest obstacle with P&P is just
keeping everyone straight. Luckily, I found a character map on Wikipedia.

To further your "sensitive guy" cred, after George Wickham's first
appearance, comment "I don't know; he seems pleasant enough, but he has
'douchebag' written all over him."

Victoria & AlbertVictoria & Albert is
the odd man out in the collection; it's not based on a popular novel, but rather
on actual events. The 18-year-old Queen Victoria (Victoria Hamilton, In
Search of the Brontës) ascends to the throne of England in 1837. Her
advisors recommend marriage to Prince Albert (Jonathan Firth, An Ideal Husband) of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha
(two Bavarian states). She had found him distant and aloof when they met several
years earlier, but upon their second meeting, she is entranced. She proposes,
and they marry in 1840. Although the two are happy enough, Albert becomes
frustrated by his inability to take on a more direct role in government; the
Privy Council fears that the nation will not accept a foreigner having so much
power. Albert struggles to find different ways to show his love for his adopted
country and to help his wife in her official duties. Over time, Victoria and
Albert develop a deep, abiding love for one another. Albert dies in 1861, most
likely from typhoid. Victoria is devastated, and wears black for the rest of her
life.

Most people think of Queen Victoria as a prude, but that's not the
case—she and Albert were both very passionate. However, they felt it
important that all members of the government comport themselves with dignity
in public—as opposed to the rowdy spectacles of previous courts.
There's a lovely scene shortly after Victoria's coronation that crystallizes the
distinction: She's preparing for her first Privy Council meeting, and worries
that she will be dismissed as a "silly little girl." She resolves to
do her best to maintain her composure so as not to give anyone the option of
dismissing her. During the meeting she displays grace and steadfastness, winning
the respect of the council. As she leaves the meeting room, one minister
comments to another that England finally has a monarch who understands the
meaning of dignity—and we cut directly to Victoria, skipping down the hall
and giggling, delighted that she actually pulled it off.

The performances are first-rate; given the presence of Diana Rigg, Peter
Ustinov, David Suchet, and Jonathan Pryce in supporting roles, it's remarkable
that the unknown principals have little trouble holding their own.

There's not a real plot per se, just a series of events that happen to be in
chronological order. You can't really identify the moment at which Albert falls
in love with Victoria; it just happens. You can't really point to any one event
that makes Victoria decide to bring Albert into her official duties; it just
happens. That's not necessarily a weakness, but the result is that the movie
becomes more of a character study (characters study? Let's go with
"relationship study"). With so much going on in the world during
Victoria's reign, it must have been a challenge for screenwriter John Goldsmith
to keep the story focused on the couple, as opposed to the myriad changes in the
world around them. I can't help but wonder if a little more historical grounding
might have helped, though; for one thing, what was the cause of the rift between
William IV (Ustinov) and Victoria's mother, the Duchess of Kent (Penelope
Wilton, Shaun of the Dead)? While the
movie is enjoyable, I get the distinct feeling that it would be even more
enjoyable for English audiences or for Anglophiles, whose knowledge of English
history would allow them to connect the dots. As a result, this is the one film
in the collection that suffers from the lack of extras.

Real Men's Guide: Forget the "Prince Albert in a can"
jokes. You've got James Callis (Battlestar Galactica)—Gaius Baltar
himself—in a brief role as Albert's older brother Ernest. Really, at this
point the jokes pretty much write themselves: "Have fun with Vickie, Al;
I'm off to shag a couple of robo-babes and see about destroying all of
humanity."

Emma Emma Woodhouse (Kate Beckinsale, Underworld is a young woman, living with
her elderly father (Bernard Hepton, Gandhi). He's a decent man, though
something of a hypochondriac. When Miss Taylor (Samantha Bond, Goldeneye), her former governess, marries
the wealthy Mr. Weston, Emma takes the fact that she introduced Miss Taylor to
her husband as proof of her matchmaking prowess. Family friend George Knightley
(Mark Strong, Fever Pitch) cautions
Emma against rash behavior; nevertheless, Emma knows what is best for those
around her, and she determines to find a husband for Harriet Smith (Samantha
Morton, Sweet and Lowdown), a young girl
of questionable parentage. Even though a local farmer has already expressed an
interest in Harriet, Emma determines that Harriet would make a good match with
Mr. Elton, the local vicar. The plan backfires spectacularly when Mr. Elton
concludes that Emma is in love with him. Additional characters move into Emma's
life, with Emma repeatedly making snap judgments concerning their character, and
repeatedly discovering that she is sorely mistaken. Through it all, the one
constant in her life is Knightley, and she slowly—very
slowly—comes to realize that rather than find true love for those around
her, she might be better served finding it for herself.

The movie clocks in at a brisk 107 minutes. Emma needs the fast pace,
as it is much more comic than other Jane Austen novels. This change in tone was
a conscious effort on Austen's part; she said as she began work on the novel,
"I am going to take a heroine whom no-one but myself will much like."
Unlike most Austen heroines, Emma is financially secure, and so does not have
the pressing need to find an advantageous match as, say, the Bennett sisters,
allowing Emma to table the question of her own marriage as she goes about
attempting to arrange others.

The performances are good, but nothing more. Kate Beckinsale has little
trouble projecting a well-meaning, yet rash, headstrong young girl, but
struggles somewhat with the more intimate scenes. Mark Strong anchors the movie
as Knightley, the one person who respects people for what they are. The thing
about Knightley is that he in no way fits the traditional image of "leading
man"; he's not particularly handsome, and through most of the movie, he is
just a family friend. It isn't until the very end that he emerges in a new
light, and that's a critical part of Emma's character development, because Emma
has to move beyond to making snap judgments based on appearances. Only then can
she appreciate Knightley's full worth.

The movie takes pains to distance itself from the earlier production of
Pride and Prejudice. Gone are the well-lit sitting rooms and sprawling
ballrooms. Instead, there is greater emphasis on natural lighting, with most
night scenes lit by candlelight. Another key difference is the presence
(omnipresence, really) of the serving class. Their presence not only allows for
some comic moments, but also allows us (and Emma) to see, through Knightley's
compassionate interactions with those who work his estate, what a truly decent
man he is.

The video is something of a disappointment. Colors are a touch
oversaturated, and images are consistently soft (largely due to the low lighting
conditions). The result is a transfer more appropriate to a movie twenty or
thirty years old.

The year this movie was first broadcast also saw a theatrical version of
Emma starring Gwyneth Paltrow. I'd give the edge to Beckinsale, mainly on
the strength of her unassuming performance.

Real Men's Guide: When all else fails, just imagine Kate Beckinsale
in her leather outfit from Underworld. That ought to perk you
right up.

Jane Eyre Orphaned at a young age, Jane Eyre is sent to
an orphanage by her indifferent relatives. Finally ready to go out into the
world, she is hired as governess at Thornhill, the estate of Edward Rochester.
Rochester's a querulous man, with a colic temper and a manor in which odd things
happen on a regular basis. Over time, Jane comes to love the irascible,
enigmatic Rochester, who in turn professes his own love for Jane. For a brief
instant, all is right in Jane's world—until her wedding day turns into a
nightmare.

Did we really need another version of Jane Eyre? Charlotte
Brontë's novel has been filmed no less than nineteen times—and
that doesn't even count movies inspired by the novel, such as Val Lewton's I Walked With a Zombie. Surely one of those
adaptations got it right. At least, I certainly hope so, because this one pretty
much screws the pooch. The writers were brutal in their unholy quest to achieve
a running time under two hours. Almost every subplot is gone—even Jane's
childhood, which encompasses six or seven chapters in the novel, is glossed over
in just a few minutes. As a result, the complexities of Jane's character fall by
the wayside, and she becomes just another romantic heroine.

Samantha Morton (Emma) does a wonderful job as Jane (with what's left
of her, at least), and is easily the strength of the production; unfortunately,
the same can't be said for Ciaran Hinds as Rochester. His emoter has been
cranked up to eleven; as a result, he's in turn too angry, too frustrated, and
too emotional, with jarring transitions from one state to the next. It makes it
very difficult to see what in him Jane finds so appealing. Rochester is usually
considered a type of Byronic hero—moody, magnetic, and
mysterious—but Hinds performance manages to downplay all of the romantic
qualities of the type, resulting in a character who appears more dyspeptic than
tortured. There's a certain amount of chemistry between the two, but this story
demands not sparks between the leads, but raging bonfires, and that just doesn't
happen.

If you are familiar with the novel and can fill in the plot gaps from
memory, this is a somewhat passable adaptation, simply on the strength of
Morton's performance. Those coming in blind—so to speak—probably
won't care for it too much.

Real Men's Guide: At some point you may be asked what you would do in
Rochester's situation. It's a trap: There. Is. No. Right. Answer. Your best bet
is to fake a cerebral hemorrhage.

Lorna Doone R.D. Blackmore published the book in 1869;
it's a historical romance, set two hundred years earlier, during the waning
years of the reign of Charles II.

It was an anxious time: Charles had no legitimate children; his heir, his
brother James, was openly Catholic. The country feared letting another Catholic
on the throne, concerned that a Catholic monarch would try to restore
Catholicism as the state church, much as Mary I had attempted. Many called for
James to be excluded in favor of the Duke of Monmouth, the eldest of Charles'
illegitimate sons, who was staunchly Protestant. No one managed to change the
succession, and James assumed the throne as James II after Charles' death in
1685. That same year, Monmouth led a rebellion against James, but he was
defeated and executed. The climactic chapters of Lorna Doone take place
during that rebellion.

Our story begins a decade earlier, in 1675. A quiet village is attacked by
the Doones, a once noble family that now lives as bandits in the dense Doone
forest, pillaging nearby towns at will. Young John Ridd sees his father murdered
by a member of the Doone clan during one such raid, and vows revenge. Several
days later, John is fishing in the river when he loses his balance. The swift
current carries him over a waterfall and deep into the forest. There he meets
young Lorna, who shows him a secret path out of the forest.

Ten years later, the adult John (Richard Coyle) has taken his father's place
as a respectable farmer, but he can't get the image of that young girl out of
his head. He returns through the secret path and happens across the now-adult
Lorna (Amelia Warner). It's love at first (okay, second) sight for both, but it
is a doomed love: Not only is she a member of the Doone clan, but her
grandfather is the lord of the Doones. She is destined to marry the ruthless
Carver Doone (Aiden Gillen)—who (although John doesn't know it) happens to
be the man who killed John's father.

Struggling to reconcile his love of Lorna with his hatred of the Doones,
spirits Lorna away from the Doone forest, where his family must reconcile their
hatred of the Doones when faced with the kind-hearted Lorna. And then a new
complication rears its head: Lorna's necklace is identified as a family
heirloom, and identifies her as the sole heir to Lady Dhugal, making Lorna
heiress to one of the largest fortunes in England. She reluctantly goes to
London to become a ward of the king; marriage to a commoner such as John becomes
out of the question.

Remember King Charles? Well, he dies, James takes over, and Monmouth leads
his insurrection. The Doones throw their lot in with Monmouth with the
understanding that he will restore their name. John finds himself in the wrong
place at the wrong time, and gets arrested for treason. A family friend vouches
for him, but John finds himself faced with a trial by combat: He is to lead a
force against the Doone stronghold; if he succeeds (and survives), not only will
the treason charge be dismissed, but he will get a knighthood—thus making
him eligible to marry Lorna.

Is this a setup for a good time or what? Although much of the plot has
become borderline cliché, it works for the most part, thanks to strong
acting and direction. Richard Coyle and Amelia Warner hit all the right notes in
the first half of the movie, and they get you invested in the proceedings. They
have some problems later on due to some stale dialogue, but they do their
best.

Video is excellent, the colors sharp and vibrant; some of the landscapes are
so green that I can't help but wonder if they were digitally processed, but a
friend has assured me that fields in Scotland are indeed that green.

The only real weakness (if you want to call it that) rests with the villains
of the piece. Aiden Gillen and Anton Lesser (as Carver's father) do well with
what they've been given, but they are so unrelentingly evil that you have to
shake your head. They remind me of a line from Buffy the Vampire Slayer:
"I like my evil like I like my men: evil. You know, straight up, black hat,
tied to the train tracks, 'Soon my electro-ray will destroy Metropolis'
bad." That's what we're talking here. Carver is even dressed in black from
head to toe. The women and the children all seem decent enough, but
apparently as soon as the males hit puberty, some rogue gene kicks in and they
transform into scheming, murderous bastards without a single redeeming
feature.

But still, it's a fun, well-paced movie, so no real complaints from me.

The Scarlet PimpernelThey seek him here, they seek
him there; Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven? Is
he in hell? That damned, elusive Pimpernel!

It's 1792. The French Revolution has given way to the Reign of Terror.
Anyone, particularly those of noble blood, can be snatched up by the Committee
for Public Safety (think Homeland Security with wigs) and thrown into La Force
prison, there to await the inevitable trial and execution. But there is a savior
of sorts roaming the French countryside. A secret society known as the League of
The Scarlet Pimpernel, led by the Scarlet Pimpernel, has confounded the
government of Robespierre by spiriting innocent prisoners right out from under
the noses of the French authorities.

In London, Sir Percival Blakeney (Richard E. Grant), a foppish member of
English aristocracy, has a strained relationship with his French wife Marguerite
(Elizabeth McGovern, Ragtime), having learned
shortly after their marriage that she had denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr to
the Revolutionary government. As a result, the noble and his entire family were
executed. Marguerite longs for reconciliation, but Sir Percy will have none of
it. One evening at a party, Marguerite is surprised by the appearance of
a friend from Paris, who herself has recently been rescued by the Pimpernel. The
woman tells Marguerite that she recognized the safe house in Paris in which the
Pimpernel hid her as the very house in which they had met years ago. Before
Marguerite can process any of this information, she is further surprised by the
appearance of Paul Chauvelin (Martin Shaw), a former lover. Chauvelin, an agent
of Robespierre, reveals his true purpose—Marguerite's brother Armand has
been arrested on his orders, and will be tried and executed. There may be a way
out for Armand, however. Chauvelin has become convinced that The Scarlet
Pimpernel is an English nobleman. If Marguerite can get information that will
lead to the capture of the Pimpernel, Armand will be spared.

That night, Marguerite begs her husband for help. She finally explains why
she denounced St. Cyr: When she was 12, after her father had affronted the
noble, St. Cyr had her parents hanged. She and her brother were forced to watch.
Years later, Chauvelin, with whom she was having an affair, convinced her to
avenge her parents by denouncing the noble; at that early stage in the
Revolution, she had no idea she was condemning an entire family to death. Sir
Percy remains aloof, however, and insists that he is powerless to help
Armand.

The following morning, Marguerite tries to get advice from her husband, but
he has already left. Reluctantly, she gives Chauvelin the location of the house
in which the Pimpernel used to hide her friend. Later, sitting at her husband's
desk, trying to wonder what has become of her life, she notices a small, gilded
flower—a pimpernel, in fact—inlaid on the front of the desk. When
she presses it, a secret drawer springs open, full of maps, plans, and
timetables. Stunned, she realizes her husband Sir Percy is The Scarlet
Pimpernel, and is probably headed to Paris to try and rescue her
brother—right into the trap being set by Chauvelin. A frantic Marguerite
rushes to France to warn her husband before it is too late, setting the stage
for a chaotic climax and a touching reconciliation between Sir Percy and his
lovely wife.

The Scarlet Pimpernel, the invention of Baroness Emmuska Orczy (a British
writer of Hungarian origin), first appeared in a 1903 play, which was such a
success that Orczy rewrote it as a novel. Ten more novels followed, along with
several collections of short stories. This set includes all three episodes than
made up the 1999 miniseries (a second three-episode series was broadcast the
following year, but is not yet available on DVD):

• "The Scarlet Pimpernel" (The above summary is for
this episode.) • "Madame Guillotine"
• "The Kidnapped King"

As with Jane Eyre, the quest for a short runtime seriously undermines
the proceedings. The characters are reduced to types, the plot reduced to a
series of barely connected episodes. The writers made a number of significant
changes to the books, and the series was a critical and commercial
disappointment. We never learn what motivates Blakeney, or how he determines
whom he will save. For all we know, he's just doing it to annoy the French. We
do get Lady Blakeney's motivations, though they have changed substantially from
the novel. In the book, St. Cyr had Marguerite's brother beaten for presuming to
be worthy of his daughter; Marguerite denounced him in a fit of pique, not
realizing that the entire family would be killed. She remains haunted by her
actions. But in the movie, St. Cyr has Marguerite's parents hanged in front of
her; even though she still indirectly caused the death of an entire family, it's
difficult to judge her harshly (particularly since we see her parents' death in
a flashback), allowing the barrier between husband and wife to be conveniently
swept aside at the appropriate time.

The first movie manages to stay under control. The other two, on the other
hand, are mishmashes of barely related plot elements that retain a sense of
direction by only the slimmest of margins. The episodes are shot with a certain
sense of style, but style with substance is of little use.

On the plus side, Richard E. Grant is always a delight to watch. His face
can go from foppish to haughty to sly all in an instant. He's having a blast and
it shows. Martin Shaw is in an odd position. In the first episode, he does a
nice job as Blakeney's nemesis Chauvelin—determined, intelligent,
ruthless, with a touch of arrogance. He's a worthy adversary. Unfortunately,
there's not a lot of consistency in his characterization from movie to movie.
Elizabeth McGovern, on the other hand, doesn't quite work as Marguerite. She has
good chemistry with Grant, but her English accent is inconsistent, which is all
the more notable since her character is French.

The Scarlet Pimpernel is probably the weakest entry in the
collection. It tries to find a precarious balance between comedy, romance, and
action/adventure, but never fully succeeds at any of them.

Real Men's Guide: We have another Battlestar Galactica
sighting: Jamie Bamber (Apollo) has a small role in the first episode as Lord
Tony Dewhurst, a member of the League (there's even a totally gratuitous shot of
his naked butt), while James Callis (Baltar) makes his second appearance in the
collection, this time as Henri, the leader of a group of rebels in the second
episode. He has a fair amount of screen time, providing ample opportunity for
Six-based references.

Tom Jones Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones,
a Foundling, published in 1749, is generally considered to be the first
English novel, if not the first novel in all of literature. The distinction
comes down to how one defines the novel, a digression I will not inflict upon
you, gentle readers, who have done me the honor of reading thus far.

Squire Allworthy (Benjamin Whitrow, Pride and Prejudice) returns from
a trip to find that an infant boy has been left in his bed. At length, a young
girl named Jenny Jones admits to being the mother, but refuses to name the
father. Allworthy has Jenny moved to another town, where her reputation will not
follow her, and promises that he will raise the boy, whom he names Thomas.

The story, which follows Tom's development from a headstrong young boy to an
equally headstrong young man (Max Beesley), is a "romance" only in a
general sense. The story is really more of a picaresque—that is, an
episodic tale involving a roguish hero, who must overcome all manner of
obstacles in order to gain a happy ending. In Tom's case, one of the main
obstacles is Allworthy's nephew Blifil (James D'arcy) who continually
schemes to remove Tom from Allworthy's favor. The story is somewhat allegorical,
given that Tom's foster father is named Allworthy, and his true love is named
Sofia (Samantha Morton, in her third appearance in this collection), or
"wisdom." Simply put, while he is a truly decent person, Tom must
learn to temper his headstrong nature with wisdom to achieve true happiness. At
the same time, Sophia, suddenly immersed in the intrigues of society, must
become worldly enough to see through others' pretentions without becoming jaded
herself. Only then can she fully appreciate what a truly decent, good-hearted
person Tom is, as opposed to the schemers and poseurs surrounding her at every
turn.

The description makes it seem like such a dreary affair. This is a rousing,
raucous, bawdy, farcical business, with betrayals, assignations, and revelations
around every corner, and Tom bouncing from bed to bed in his quest to reunite
with his one true love—leading to a moment of sheer terror when Tom
realizes that he may have inadvertently slept with his own mother. Once the
proceedings arrive in London, the plot hurtles forward at a breakneck pace, with
everyone playing their parts just a little over the top, but none as
hysterically as Brian Blessed (Hamlet)
as Sophia's father, Squire Weston. Blessed stomps through the film like a
particularly uncouth force of nature, flinging raspberries and foul imprecations
at anyone who gets in his way. A narrator, Henry Fielding himself (John
Sessions), works feverishly to keep the plot from spinning completely out of
control and to ensure that the rambunctious tale has some redeeming moral
qualities. He isn't merely a disembodied voice, but an actual character, walking
amidst the characters, interacting with them. As you might expect, this sort of
production may not be to everyone's tastes, but it captures the spirit of the
novel admirably. Once you get used to the movie's peculiar rhythms, it's a fun
ride.

Real Men's Guide: Are you kidding? This film combines the artistic
and thematic sensibilities of Dangerous
Liaisons and Porky's. We
live for this stuff!

Ivanhoe Dashing knight is captured during the Crusades,
refuses to break under torture, everyone thinks he betrayed King Richard, he
escapes, returns home incognito to find his beloved betrothed to another, fights
to redeem his name, wins the jousting competition, the Catholic Church is
corrupt, yada yada yada, Prince John is a prick.

Perhaps more than any other film in the collection, this movie comes across
as hopelessly generic. We've seen all of this before, and we've seen it done
better. Part of the problem is the extended appearance of Robin of Locksley,
a.k.a. Robin Hood. While Robin is an integral part of Sir Walter Scott's novel
(up to and including Robin's winning of the archery competition), his presence
here also brings in the ghost of Errol Flynn, reminding us that this should be a
fast-paced action movie, and not a dreary marathon of a film. For that, I
could have watched Robin Hood:
Prince of Thieves and at least gotten to enjoy Alan Rickman's scenery
chewing antics.

The plot meanders a bit too much for its own good (a problem it inherits
from Scott's novel). There's an extended stretch in which the focus shifts from
Ivanhoe to Robin and other characters, as Ivanhoe is recovering from injuries.
But the main problem is that the direction is incredibly pedestrian. Shots are
sloppily framed without any real composition to speak of, and the camerawork
does little to inject and originality into the proceedings, which is critical in
a movie such as this, which contains so many familiar plot elements. (See
Lorna Doone for an example of how strong direction can transform a
generic plot.)

The acting, on the other hand, is pretty good. Steven Waddington (Sleepy Hollow) does a decent, though
somewhat bland, job as Ivanhoe, and Ciaran Hinds does a marvelous job as Brian
de Bois-Guilbert, the conflicted, tormented villain. The great Christopher Lee
(The Lord of the Rings: The Two
Towers) has a supporting role as Lucas de Beaumanoir, Grand Master of the
Knights Templar. The man has one of the great voices of cinema, and the movie is
worth watching just to hear him intoning Latin and going off on inquisitorial
tirades. Amazingly, this was his first BBC role since 1947. Victoria Smurfit
does her best with a criminally underwritten part as Ivanhoe's true love, Lady
Rowena, while Susan Lynch steals scene after scene as Rebecca, the Jewish healer
who saves Ivanhoe's life, and with whom de Bois-Gilbert becomes dangerously
obsessed.

The Rebuttal Witnesses

With the exception of Pride and Prejudice, the oldest movie in the
collection, all of the movies are presented in full frame. Surely a few more
could have been presented in a widescreen format (Lorna Doone and
Ivanhoe in particular would have benefitted greatly from widescreen
presentation). Also, with the exception of Pride and Prejudice there is
nothing in the way of extras beyond author biographies and cast filmographies (a
link to A&E.com just doesn't count anymore).

In addition, the lack of any kind of restoration is troublesome. It's kind
of understandable from the BBC's perspective—they have made these films
before, they will make them again (in fact, they made another version of Jane
Eyre just a few years ago. But if A&E is marketing these films as
classics, they should treat them as classics.

Closing Statement

"And I only am escaped alone to tell thee."

That was an egregious assault on my masculine sensibilities. Fortunately,
James Garner shows us what to do in times such as these: Go find the seediest,
toughest bar in town, stride right up, and order a glass of milk.

Kidding aside, though, this is a good set. While none of the other films
reach the same high standards as Pride and Prejudice, the only really
bad entry is The Scarlet Pimpernel.

The Verdict

A&E is hereby found guilty of making an impressive collection of chick
flicks available at a bargain-level price, thereby inflicting these movies on
unsuspecting men everywhere. A&E is hereby sentenced to begin broadcasting
The Sopranos unedited, so that men can get in touch with their sensitive
side the way God intended—by seeing someone's brains splattered all over
the cannoli. Badda bing!